Like Real People Do
by bravevulnerability
Summary: Castle and Beckett return to the shooting range for some practice. Insert for 7x17, Hong Kong Hustle.


**A/N: Set after Beckett's shooting session with Zhang. **

**Massive thanks to Emily for the inspiring brainstorming session on this one. ****Title borrowed from a beautiful song by Hozier.**

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"I still don't understand the point of this," Beckett sighs as he leads her through the department's empty shooting range, nodding to the officer on shift that he recognizes, even as the man grimaces back at him.

It was one time with an antique gun and they still act as if he's a bad shot. Insulting.

"You said you were rusty and now you feel inferior because of Zhang," he muses, dragging her along past the unoccupied row of stalls, coming to a halt at the one furthest across the room. "So consider this an evening of practice with my on hand support."

She grumbles under her breath as he hands her the protective eyewear, growling out the words 'inferior' and 'insecure' as if they're obscenities, and she calls _him _the dramatic one?

"This could be like our date night," he continues, leaning on the edge of the sturdy divider while she adjusts the safety glasses and the earmuffs and retrieves her gun from the holster still decorating her waist, placing her gun on the stand. "Some couples do dinner, we go to firing ranges."

"Dinner sounds far more preferable," she mutters, pulling the switch that has the electric target hanger gliding towards her and clipping the paper target to the hanger, sending it back down the range. "I'd rather be at home with you than back at work."

He almost pauses, struck by a ripple of sheer awe for just a breath of a second. He still remembers the days where it was once the other way around, when home had nothing to do with him, and recognizing the vast change, the development in this woman he loves so deeply, will always make his heart ripe with pride.

Castle watches her load her weapon and settle into her usual firing stance, and he really doesn't understand how she could ever think for even a second that she is anything less than extraordinary, how she could ever believe the insecurities running rampant through her mind.

The crackle of gunfire fills the air, one bullet after another piercing through that coveted 10 ring, aside from the three that she puts in the head of the target silhouette. This is what she calls rusty?

Well, in that case, maybe he could get a little more creative in his acts of reassurance.

"Castle," she huffs when he steps up behind her, feathering his fingers at her hips, following the tension up her spine and onto her shoulders. "I don't need-"

She stills at the press of his chest to the back, the white knuckled grip on her gun relaxing just a fraction as he glides gentle hands down her stiff arms, caressing her elbows and smoothing over the tight muscles of her forearms.

"You know, Detective," he murmurs, the heat of his breath dislodging the strands of hair tucked behind her ear. "If you don't want to shoot, we could always just cuddle."

Without even having to see her face, he knows she's smiling, feels it radiating through her frame, eradicating the tension, replacing it with amusement and then, something more.

"I don't want to cuddle," she hums, nudging her hips backwards, into the cradle of his, and… is she serious? Oh, he hopes so. "I think I just need to release some tension."

The sultry husk of her voice and the lowering of her weapon confirm his hopes.

"H-here?" he whispers despite the fact that the officer manning the entrance is all the way across the room, despite the fact that they're boxed in this tiny cubicle together, secluded and private.

Kate shrugs, ejecting the empty magazine and setting her gun down on the stand in front of her, tugging her eyewear and ear guards off and placing them beside her unloaded weapon.

But a shrug is all he needs to tighten the arm around her waist, to crowd in even closer at her back and span his palm flat and wide over the front of her jeans.

He receives no protest, no halfhearted reprimand that he tends to hear when they're in public and he just can't resist the earned privilege of touching her, so he pops the button of her jeans, tugs her zipper down, and brushes his fingers over the soft black cotton of her underwear.

Her hair is loose tonight, freed from the pulled back style she had worn for work, and the locks spill over his shoulder as her head falls backwards, a pleased hum simmering in her throat as he teases her warm flesh.

"No reason for you to be insecure," he brushes against her temple, trailing downwards to nip a path along her jaw, and she arches at the words, at his voice, her hips reaching for his descending hand at her abdomen. His other hand is busy slipping beneath her sweater, gliding over the ripple of her ribcage, tracing his thumb along the wiring of her bra.

Her teeth pierce her bottom lip just before her mouth parts, a silent sound of ecstasy on her tongue as he finally dips beneath the fabric of her underwear, strokes a finger between her swollen lips, through the slick heat of her.

"Gorgeous," he murmurs, retreating from the pool of her arousal to circle her clit, withdrawing from the enticing bone of her jaw to skim his lips at her ear. "Watching you come undone like this – most gorgeous sight in the world."

Her head turns towards him, her nose nudging against his cheekbone as the harsh rasp of her breath caresses his jawline. He kisses her while her mouth is in reach, wiping away the sour taste of insecurity with his tongue, painting every place he touches with reassurance until she's panting, arcing beneath the palm of his hand capturing her breast and the thrust of his fingers inside her.

She's not perfect, but he never wanted perfect. She's real, beautifully human and fierce in her flaws, stronger because of them, and what she lacks in confidence, he'll fill with promises he knows to be true, with reminders of how extraordinary she truly is. How inspiring and wonderful. He's never met another like her and Zhang may have her intimidated, doubting her skills and accomplishments, raising expectations for herself to impossible heights, but there never was and never will be a comparison. No one else could ever hold a candle to Kate Beckett, not in his eyes.

Castle increases the pace of his hand, feels her clench and contract around his fingers, feels her chest hitch and her breath stutter sharp and ragged in her lungs – already balancing on the edge, ready to fall.

"Love you, Kate."

Beckett's hand flies to his wrist and tugs him from her pants, whining at the loss of contact, but the separation is brief, only long enough for her to turn, to slam him up against the wall of the cubicle and guide his hand back down, mewling into his mouth when he returns to the wet, welcoming heat between her legs and plunges back inside.

He slides a hand to her thigh at the new position, hooks one long leg around his own, stretching the taut fabric of her jeans, forcing his palm to press firm against her core. Her moan of approval slithers from her mouth into his, her fingers clawing the skin of his neck while her hips circle and her body grinds, her clit in tight contact with the heel of his hand. His fingers sink deep, seeking that place inside her that has her eyes flaring gold like halos around the consuming blackness of her pupils, has her whole body jerking, surging into him like a tidal wave before coming undone, crashing against him.

Kate drops her face to his shoulder, digs her teeth into his collarbone and squeezes her eyes shut against the column of his throat while her body rattles with release, with the aftershocks of pleasure that follow. Castle eases his hand from between them, replacing the empty place between her legs with the hard muscle of his thigh for her to rest against. She hisses quietly at the sudden pressure but relaxes moments later, content to ride through the final vestiges of her orgasm boneless and sated in his arms.

"I think that did the trick," he chuckles, hoping conversation will distract him from the hard bulge trapped between them, but, of course, Kate has other ideas – lifting her head to open her mouth at his throat, searing his skin with her tongue.

He squeezes her hips in warning, because they still have to walk out of here and he absolutely cannot stroll past the front desk in his current state.

"Let's go home," she murmurs, her eyes dark and territorial beneath her lashes as they flicker down to his mouth. "I think you have some tension of your own we need to work out."


End file.
